annals
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Anthology: mostly Devour, The Penthouse, Eagle Eye, and Latter Days, with a smattering of others. Up now: My Bloody Valentine crossed with Devour
1. Follow the Stars Home

**Title**: Druthers

**Fandom**: _Follow The Stars Home_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers and AU for film

**Pairings**: Mark/Dianne

**Wordcount**: 400

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

I know you hate me for marrying her. You'd been in love with her—how long? Years, wasn't it? And I'm sorry, man, I really am. But you had your chance and you never took it. You had her, all to yourself, and you never let her know how you feel, never once asked her out. So you can hate me, if you want, I'm fine with that.

But you can't blame me.

You can't blame me.

o0o

I screwed up and I know that. I just… couldn't deal. You know how I am with hospitals and doctors and illness… I wasted six years I could have had with Dianne, with… with Julia. Our daughter. Julia.

I was so pissed when you showed me that picture, but now I can't get it out of my head. They were both so beautiful, so vibrant—

You hated me for marrying her. I bet you loathed me for walking away.

I know I loathe myself.

o0o

I love Dianne. I think I have from the moment I met her and discovered she was the carpenter. You told me about her, I remember. Maybe I should have walked away the minute I knew she was the girl you had a crush on but refused to touch.

Maybe I should have walked away before—instead, I walked away after and you still never made a move.

Afraid of rejection? Of her refusing you because of me? The wounds are still fresh on Dianne's soul, I know that.

I know.

I was young and scared and wanted… wanted the perfect wife, the perfect life, the perfect family. What I never had growing up. You remember how I was when Mom got sick, those last few months—I still regret that I never visited her. I still hate myself.

But Dianne…

Julia.

o0o

David, forgive me. It was a mistake to walk away, and I know that. I can never, ever make up for it. But please… I want to know her, David. Please… tell me about my daughter.

Soon as Dianne is out of surgery, I'll talk to her. I'll beg her to forgive me, to give me a second chance. I don't deserve it, I'll never be able to earn it… David, please. You've been there the whole time, like I should have been.

Please, let me see that picture again. Tell me about Julia.


	2. Chasing Ghosts

**Title**: Roman Way

**Fandom**: _Chasing Ghosts_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters. just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie; implied pedophilia

**Pairings**: implied Marcus Alfiri/his adopted son

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 280

**Notes**: So, there's this guy, right? This actor-type guy who played the father of these other two guys in this TV show that kicks all kind of ass, "Supernatural." You heard of it? Anyway, so—because I have this illness—I rented a movie this guy has been in, _Chasing Ghosts_. And then this screamed to be written, even though his character doesn't appear in the story. Though, I have a STRONG desire to write a story with his character. And then a _Devour/Chasing Ghosts_ crossover(honestly, Dean's daddy and Jake's mama in the same movie?). Did I mention I'm sick?

**More notes**: the title is an allusion to the belief of some that Brutus was Julius Caesar's son.

**Notes cubed**: _Jacob_ means _supplanter_

* * *

He killed Papa and Mama and Jorge and Elena and Miguel, and even Elena's puppy, Pinto. He killed everyone and nearly killed Daniel, too, but then Father stayed his hand and took Daniel as his own.

Father tried erasing memories of Papa and Mama and his big brothers and gentle Elena—but Daniel clung tightly to them, determined to avenge his family one day, no matter what.

Father renamed him Jacob and taught him how to rule. Had others teach him to fight and to shoot and other skills needed. But Daniel still looked out of Jacob's eyes, planning his family's justice.

Father took Daniel/Jacob into his bed and taught lessons there, too, and Daniel screamed for Mama while Jacob learned. Daniel howled for retribution and Jacob planned.

Daniel/Jacob was a myth among Father's empire, except to the inner circle, and it was there that Daniel saw the first familiar face in nearly fifteen years: _Jaime_, Daniel whispered to Jacob. _Papa's baby brother_.

Daniel/Jacob approached his uncle, learned that he, too, had a new name. and Daniel/Jacob learned, as well, that Tio Jaime had formulated his own vengeful ideas.

Daniel/Jacob did as Father instructed, acted the dutiful son, the beloved heir, melted into the shadows, and stood back to wait. Everything hinged on timing. And then Father killed that cop who got too close, released the other from his contract, and Daniel howled for justice while Jacob began taking it.

Father had formed him for this. Father fashioned him as an instrument—and if Father did not see this coming, well…

He killed Daniel's family. He should have known better than to allow Daniel life.

Even if it was life as _Jacob_.


	3. PS, I Love You

**Title**: remembrance

**Fandom**: _PS, I Love You_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: G

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She looks familiar, like they've met before, but he can't place her. She fumbles her words, shy and awkward, and he's charmed. He wants to take care of her, to make her smile, because she has a beautiful smile.

He invites her to wait, to listen to his next song. After that, maybe, she'll say yes when he asks her to get a pint with him.

He wants to make her laugh, to watch her face light up with that smile. And she looks so familiar… maybe they met in another life.

He's glad he's met her in this one.


	4. Crossfire Trail

**Title**: Strawberries and Honey

**Fandom**: _Crossfire Trail_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: implied Rock/JT

**Rating**: G

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He got two days away before he missed the lad too much to stay gone. Missed those bright blue eyes, the boy's nearly-constant sunshine smile, his slow honey-drawl, the strong, supple curve of his body—aye, there he was spoutin' poetry like his baby sister back home.

So, since he'd sunk so low, he decided it would be best to find his way back to the lad. Couldn't be away from him, it didn't feel right.

The boy was one of the few people who'd ever laughed at his silly jokes—of course he couldn't let the sunshiny lad go.


	5. Anonymous Rex

**Title**: Once a Predator

**Fandom**: _Anonymous Rex_

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: none, really

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 335

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

It's in the blood. The killing. Millions of years of training, of pretending, of hiding, can't change that.

Once a predator, always a predator. Forever. End of story.

Humans, of all things, should understand that.

Maybe, the problem is that they do.

o0o

There's always an anomaly. A rogue. A killer caught up in bloodlust and DNA.

It is so very easy to lose control. And humans are so fragile.

They walk the top of the totem pole, but they cling only by guns and thumbs. Take away weapons and humans will fall.

Take away weapons and the game is over. Finished.

Once a predator, always a predator. No matter what.

It's that easy.

o0o

Rebels can't be chained forever. Can't be leashed, pushed away. When enough voices clamor, they will be heard.

Councils come and go, but dreams are forever.

Like the lust for blood.

o0o

Humans stand on a shaky pinnacle and predators from history's mist prowl the darkness just out of sight.

Lock the door, they can knock it down.

Fire a gun, they have one, too.

Declare war and you're already dead.

This is the day they've been waiting for.

o0o

It's in the blood. No matter how many millions of years it's been, that dog sleeping at your feet is still a wolf. The cat purring beside you is still a lion.

All they need are triggers.

Once a predator, always a predator.

Humans should know that.

So fragile, for all their weapons. So breakable.

So tasty.

All anything needs is a trigger.

o0o

Walking the street, mingling in a crowd, smelling their blood, he licks his lips.

It's easy for herbivores. They've never tasted blood. Can't feel it sliding down their throats, warm on their faces, painting their claws as they rip and shred. As they snarl and tear and _feed_ as nature intended.

It's easy for herbivores because once a predator, always a predator, no matter what.

No matter what.

o0o

All anything needs is a trigger.


	6. New York Minute

**Title**: Nature Bred

**Fandom**: _New York Minute_

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.  
**Warnings**: pre-movie, mostly. A tad dark for such a cotton-candy tale.

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 885

**Point** **of** **view**: third  
**Notes**: Inspired by The Lieutenant of Inishmore and chapter 17 of "A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood" by **_queen of the imps_. **

* * *

Trey was not a hateful person by nature. He filled rooms with a bright, sunshiny feeling when he smiled or laughed; he won hundreds of people to his mother's side before and knew he probably would again.

He could barely remember his father; the man left on his fifth birthday and never called. His mother never trash-talked his father—she never mentioned him at all.

She spoiled Trey, but he never developed a holier-than-thou attitude. Even though they were among the top hundred richest families in America, you wouldn't know it to look at him.

Trey got along with everybody. He could mold his personality to fit in with any crowd and could carry a conversation for hours about nothing.

He didn't have a hidden rage or a trouble spirit. He didn't fantasize about hurting others or himself. He had no buried issues with his absentee father or his never-there mother who gave him gifts but not hugs and looked at him but didn't see him.

He was not a hateful person by nature. He never lost his temper.

His mother's dog was not terrified of him. Did not follow him with wary eyes. Did not whimper when he got too close.

Trey was not a hateful person by nature. But he loathed that dog to the depths of his soul.

o0o

Reinaldo arrived when Trey was twelve. His mother didn't mention they were getting a dog, didn't ask if he wanted one—and he did, an Irish Wolfhound. He'd loved them his whole life, researched their history and read every book he could find.

So he knew they were a lot of work and a lot of time. And he'd made his case every six months, explained over and over he was ready and willing to take care of the dog's every need.

It was all he wanted. Instead of video games and toys and clothes and trips to Europe, he wanted an Irish Wolfhound, a dog to call his own.

And his mother came home with a wrinkled, drowned **rat**.

o0o

She still gave Trey things. But all her affection went to the damned dog. Every second she wasn't working went to that _damned_ _**dog**_.

Reinaldo. What the hell kind of name is **that**?

Trey wasn't picky. He didn't care if his Wolfhound was male or female—he'd picked out Odin and Artemis for their names. The king of the Norse pantheon and the Greek goddess of the hunt—he'd put a lot of thought into this.

And his mother brought home **that**.

So, no—he wasn't hateful by nature. But that **dog**—

o0o

He went four years without doing anything. He figures he deserves a prize for that.

But then Mom went on a five week business trip and couldn't take her precious little boy. She left Trey a long list of how to take care of the rodent and Trey smiled, nodding at her every point.

She kissed Reinaldo goodbye, sniffing back tears, and waved to Trey as she got in the limo.

Trey gave the staff a month off. He ate what he wanted when he wanted and slept in the master bed. He went to school and continued charming the teachers. He told no one he stayed in the house alone.

And he finally had his fun with that thing his mom called 'Darling.'

Five weeks is a long time and he'd hated the creature for years.

o0o

Mom thought Reinaldo had missed her and explained away his new behavior. Trey said he'd slipped in the yard, and the limp healed soon, anyway.

Reinaldo kept his distance from Trey after that.

o0o

Two and a half years later, Trey found his dog.

He worked at the pound every Saturday—his mother fussed at him to quit, telling him there was no need for that. Trey didn't even try explaining.

The dog—a starved, half-grown Irish Wolfhound—came in on a Thursday, caught wandering the streets. She snapped at anyone who came too close and whimpered when she walked.

"Artemis," Trey whispered the first time he saw her.

He called his mother and told her he was bringing home a dog. She sputtered but he hung up on her. She'd understand, given time. After all—she loved that rodent, didn't she?

Trey knew it'd be hard—Artemis wasn't exactly trusting or gentle. He had a long road in helping her.

But she was everything he'd ever wanted.

o0o

He had her for nearly a year before she died. Hopped the fence to chase a squirrel. Ended up on the street. His mother's limo ran her over.

Reinaldo lived and Artemis died, and Mom went on another trip.

Tragically, Reinaldo found his way onto the highway.

Unfortunately, he survived.

o0o

Trey was not a hateful person by nature.

So when Reinaldo flew out the window, it was easy to pretend he thought Jane would catch the fucking thing.

And when Mom asked where her darling was, on the verge of panicking, he barely suppressed the desire to tell her how he really felt.

But he was not a hateful person by nature. So he faked his way through another day, pretended to keep Mom happy.

He'd get her stupid mongrel back for her. She'd go on another trip soon enough.

o0o

Trey was not a hateful person by nature.


	7. Jam

**Title**: New Road

**Fandom**: _Jam_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 330

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: Jeffrey Dean Morgan? Is _adorable_.

* * *

She waits a week to call him, so that she doesn't look too desperate. It's been a crazy week, and she's only talked to Dad. Hasn't called Jen or Brian or Stephanie, just Dad. The whole story spilled out, her suspicions finally confirmed.

"I'm just…" she paused, looking for the right word. "Taking a sabbatical, Dad. Don't worry."

"I love you, baby," he said. "Be safe."

"I promise," she told him. "Love you, too."

And so she drives in the stolen Bug, stopping just for gas and food, watching the sky and the road pass.

It takes a week to call him, when she finally feels able. She gets an answering machine and hangs up, calls back immediately.

Brian wasn't the one, and chances are this guy isn't, either. But she'll never know if she doesn't try, and there was something—he was an asshole, but so was she. Neither of them was at their best, on that clogged mountain road.

"Um, hey?" she says into the receiver. "This is Amy, from the traffic jam last week? You gave me your number, so I could tell you what happened. Well, it's off. The wedding, I mean." She pauses, a small hitch in her voice. "It wasn't…" She sighs. "It wasn't a surprise. But still—it hurts, you know? Anyway…" She tells him what hotel she's staying at, the room number. "I got rid of my cellphone. I'm starting a new life, you know? So… I'll be here a couple more days, probably get a new cell soon."

She pulls the phone away from her ear, looks at it. She'll never know if she doesn't try. "Maybe you wanna get some coffee or something? Call me if you do." She hangs up and lies back on the bed.

A new life, away from Jen and Brian and things she didn't want but thought it was time for.

Maybe Dale'll call and maybe he won't. Either way she's finally on her own road.


	8. FaceOff

**Title**: Victory

**Fandom**: _Face/Off_

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie.

**Pairings**: Sean/Eve, mentions of Castor/Eve, implied Castor/Sean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 270

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: Have you _seen_ this movie? Mr. Travolta and Mr. Cage knocked it _out of the park_. Ah, it's so _good_

* * *

Sometimes, when he dreams, he wears that face again. He speaks with that voice, has those hands, that body—that life. Sometimes, when he dreams, he is the killer, the terrorist—the man that murdered his son. 

Sometimes, he dreams that the truth was never found out, he still has that face, is in prison for crimes he never committed, that his wife sleeps next to a monster every night.

Sometimes, he hears that voice whispering in his ear, those hands tracing his jaw, that mouth pressed close to his skin. _What's it take, Sean? _the hated voice murmurs, warm breath ghosting across his face, fingers trailing along his lips. _You were me, remember? You killed and you laughed and, for a few twisted, glorious seconds—you considered taking it all. _And, in his dream, the voice continues, while hands tangle in his hair, _You considered becoming me fully, Sean, because I was freer than you ever were. _

Sometimes, lying next to Eve, Jamie and Adam asleep in their rooms down the hall, Sean cannot slumber peacefully. Michael haunts his dreams, and Sasha—and Castor. He rolls over, pulls Eve close, but he knows that Castor touched her, Castor fucked her—all while wearing his face.

_What's it take, Sean? _Castor asks with his voice. _To stop a monster? _

Sean closes his eyes and strives to stay awake, to stave off sleep. He **won**. He killed Castor and he took back his face and he avenged all the dead—and Castor's hands cup his face, Castor's lips press against his, and Castor whispers, _Are you so sure that you won? _


	9. In the Blink of an Eye

**Title**: let me be born again into something true

**Fandom**: _In the Blink of an Eye_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for movies

**Pairings**: Jesse/Sunny

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: I am _really_ tired of Jeffrey Dean Morgan's characters dying.

* * *

Fifteen years since he's seen her, touched her, heard her voice. Finally he can speak to her, and it's only to say goodbye.

There's so much he wishes he had the time to say, fifteen years worth of thoughts to share with her… thousands of apologies he could make. He's ruined her life, stolen it away, and not a single thing can ever make that up.

He wants to beg forgiveness, to plead with her for absolution, but she's already given it. Her letters have kept him going, given him the strength to walk on to death.

_I love you. _


	10. A Little Inside

**Title**: Love of the Game

**Fandom**: _A Little Inside_

**Disclaimer**: none of the characters contained herein are mine. I wrote this because I'm twisted and young!Jared is cute.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: Ed/Robyn, Ed/Sarah, Ed/Matt

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 940

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Robyn was his whole world till Abby. She was kind and funny and beautiful—her smile could make him happy for days. And she chose him. In eleventh grade she chose him and never looked back.

He thought she should, sometimes, because he had a temper and he could be hard to be around. But whenever he got to being like that, Robyn would just smile her sad little broken smile and softly run her fingers through his hair.

"I love you, Eddie Mills," she'd say and gently press her lips to his temple. "No matter how many jagged edges you have." And then she'd trace his jaw with her other fingers. "No matter how hard you shove me away, I'm not goin' anywhere. And that's a promise."

He'd calm down and kiss her and apologize with his body. She always forgave him. She was Robyn and knew no other way to be.

o0o

He heard the news after playing the best game of baseball in his life.

Robyn died after being thrown from the car because her seatbelt failed. She flew through the windshield, twenty feet in the air, and hit the ground hard, breaking almost every bone in her body.

Abby, in the backseat, wasn't hurt at all, but she wailed for days.

He couldn't let Abby out of his sight for months. He held her nearly every second of the day, terrified of putting her down. And as she grew, he kept her as close as possible. He taught her baseball, even though he knew her interests lay elsewhere. He worked as a mechanic while he longed to play again. He strangled his dreams to keep Abby happy.

She looked more like Robyn everyday.

o0o

When Matt first spoke to him, Ed thought of Great Dane puppies romping through a field. Matt was energetic and Ed could barely remember being so young

Matt kept talking to him no matter how Ed discouraged him. He either didn't know how or when to shut up. He told Ed about school, his siblings, how his dad loved playing baseball but wasn't any good. He informed Ed at great length about the college teams, the major and minor leagues.

And he asked questions. Ed hadn't really discussed himself in years but Matt would quiet when Ed talked. So Ed did.

o0o

Abby wanted ballet over baseball. When the guys at work heard about it, they mocked and mocked—except Matt. He just asked about a truck.

So Ed told him to come on and took him to the park where he started playing baseball again.

The kid was good and Ed hadn't lost his touch over the years.

Ed wanted to ask him why he wasn't at school, why his father let him work instead of making him learn, but instead he just showed the kid how to pitch.

o0o

Abby continued ballet, became more of a little girl every day. And Ed returned to baseball, half a decade older than most of his teammates.

Sarah, the mom of Abby's best friend, came to his home games, and Matt. Matt who still reminded him of a giant puppy and Sarah who was kind of like Robyn, but just different enough to hurt.

Ed hadn't touched a woman since Robyn died. He loved her too much to betray her like that—even though he knew she wouldn't see it as betrayal.

The kid understood his love of the game, listened as he talked about it. Sarah was too complicated, too wrapped up with the girls in his mind.

o0o

Ed played for the Yankees, his dream since forever. And then he returned to the garage. He started a little league team and hesitantly courted Sarah: she was a good mother for Abby.

But it was Matt who caught his eye, Matt with shaggy dark hair and sharp green eyes. Matt with boundless energy and smiles that never wavered. Matt who was content to play catch for hours.

He knew that Matt adored him, worshipped him, would do anything to please him.

And he hadn't done anything with anyone since the morning before Robyn was killed.

o0o

Sarah asked him into her bed the night after Abby and Christa's Winter Recital. Ed refused kindly and said he'd pick Abby up the next afternoon.

No matter how he hurt Sarah or broke her heart, she'd never take it out on Abby.

So he left her house and met Matt at the park, where they played catch and then a whole other kind of game.

o0o

Matt didn't taste like Robyn. And he kissed completely differently. He was taller than Ed and gangly, still growing into his skin.

Any woman who reminded Ed too much of Robyn caused him pain to just be around, but Matt…

He was gloriously alive and gloriously willing, and Ed had waited so long…

o0o

Ed and Sarah married the summer after Abby turned twelve. Matt was the Best Man. Sarah had a boyfriend who traveled all over the country and Ed had Matt.

The wedding was for the girls, for stability and a home, for two parents.

Ed only let himself go around Matt, who'd shot up to six foot five and could break Ed in half.

Ed still saw Robyn sometimes, in Matt's black hair and green eyes. And Ed knew that Matt knew he still loved Robyn and always would. She'd been it for him.

But Matt adored him, worshipped him, would do anything to please him. And Matt would take what he could get.

Sometimes Ed hated himself for that. But only sometimes.


	11. College Road Trip

**Title**: the cost of merit

**Fandom**: _College Road Trip_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for beginning of movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: -headdesk- I couldn't even watch the whole film, but the few minutes Lucas Grabeel is in, he's adorable.

* * *

He'd spent the last three months of high-school preparing for the mock trial, and she turned it into a joke, completely invalidating due process—and the judge _catered_ to her. If _he_ had tried that, he'd have probably been held in contempt of court.

Of course, he lost. Three months of work, turned moot because she had more presence than he did. Because she was charismatic.

Hell, maybe even because her father played golf with the judge a few weekends a month, who knew.

But he watched as they congratulated her, commended her—and knew that life truly wasn't fair.


	12. Eagle Eye 1

**Title**: in his name

**Fandom**: _Eagle Eye_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The computer promised to save Sam if she killed Jerry. He can't be allowed to live—he might stop whatever the plan—_assassinations_—is, and then Sam might die.

_Kill him._

Rachel picks up the fallen soldier's gun and Jerry turns, eyes widening.

_Kill him and save Sam._

"Go ahead," Jerry says, stepping up to the gun. "Do it." He shoves the gun against his face. "Do it."

_Kill him and save Sam. Save Sam_.

Jerry meets her gaze and Rachel can read the fear in his eyes. "Do it," he says again.

If she kills him, Sam lives. She'll see her son again, will be able to hold him, tell him how much she loves him.

Gently, slowly, Jerry takes the gun. "Go," he says softly. "Whatever she has left, finish it. I'll…" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I won't do anything to piss her off."

Rachel is almost certain they'll both be dead before the end, but she has to try, for Sam.

"Go," Jerry repeats.

She can tell that he thinks they'll die, too.

"I'm sorry," she says. She doesn't look back.


	13. The Penthouse 1

**Title**: What hangs a moment in the air is already dead

**Fandom**: _The Penthouse_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Adrienne Rich.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She's falling again, in his memory. She's always falling. She never stops. He wants to fall with her, just to see her, and speak to her, and be held by her again.

He never got to say goodbye. Dad pulled him back, kept him from following her, and Dad left him with his stupid aunt, who didn't even like him, and never understood his need to fall.

But now he's free, now he's out, and he knows where _she_ is, the one person who cared about him after Mom fell. He knows she'll understand.

He knows she'll fall with him.


	14. Latter Days 1

**Title**: Fifty Dollars

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: Christian/Aaron

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

Fifty dollars. You gave him your body and soul, and it was only worth fifty dollars. A bet.

You were no more than a bet to him. Was anything he said real, true? Mean a thing beyond getting laid?

Fifty dollars. You gave up your family and teachings and _God_ for him, and he got fifty dollars. Is he laughing with his friends now? Telling about how easy you were, how eager to please, for _fifty dollars_?

Your mother can barely stand to look at you. Your father is disgusted with you. Because of fifty dollars.

You loved him. Love him. Fifty dollars is all you're worth, and you still can't stop thinking him.

Maybe a blade against your skin will help.


	15. Devour 1

**Title**: Against the Tide

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: Nate's mine. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: Paul/Kathy

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 500

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

The greatest mistake of his life was following up on Nate's lead, was going to that cabin at midnight, taking Kathy with him, armed with nothing but righteousness and determination.

He should have left the boy in the devil's grasp, or killed him that night. But taking him, raising the child as human, teaching him wrong from right—

He thought he was doing the best thing, and Kathy stood beside him the entire way. Kathy assured him that they did what they had to, did what needed to be done. The boy couldn't stay with his mother or father—that was too dangerous. But neither could they kill him, because—

And all of her reasons pale in comparison to the horror that is the truth, but at the time… they had wanted a child for such a long while.

o0o

It wasn't that bad, at first. Kathy could still walk, still smile, still soothe him with a glance. And the boy was beautiful, far more beautiful than any child Paul had ever seen before. He laughed at them, made small noises, gripped their fingers with his tiny little hand.

"Gorgeous," Kathy breathed, unable to look away. Watching both of them, his wife and the boy, Paul could only agree.

o0o

Kathy named him Jacob. "For my father," she said, her hands trembling around the boy.

Paul nodded, gave her a small smile. "He was a good man, Kat." He leaned down to press a kiss against her hair. "He'd be honored."

o0o

Sometimes, he wondered if they'd done the right thing, stealing Jake from his mother. But Kathy held him, hugged him, kissed his brow—and Paul could not doubt for long.

But now—now, he's had the dream for three weeks in a row and he knows they shouldn't have taken Jacob. They should have left him to his fate as the devil's son.

But Kathy, in good conscience, could not let such an opportunity pass.

"This could turn the tide in the war, Paul," she said, eyes shining with hope. "It could make all the difference!"

And after they stole him, they should never have kept him. He was such a danger—_is_ such a danger.

The cost of taking Jake was Kathy's legs. And she would say it to be an even trade, but Paul cannot agree. He looks at Jake, the most beautiful man in the world—flawless and perfect—and sees only evil looking back.

That night, in the woods, he should have snapped Jacob's tiny neck. But instead he ran, carrying his wife and Lucifer's only spawn, and Kathy's entreaties alone saved the boy's life. They took the child to Nate; he agreed with Paul that the best thing would be to kill the newborn, but Kathy swayed all to her side.

Paul should have stood firm. Should have killed the child in the night. But Kathy loved him. Kathy adored the devil's son.

Now, Paul wonders what that says about his darling.

Now, it's too late.


	16. Latter Days 2

**Title**: that island will not be perfect

**Fandom**: _Latter Days_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: mentions of Christian/Aaron

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Her son is guilty of committing a vile sin, but he is still her baby boy and she forgives him. She is angry, so very angry, hurt and disgusted—but she loves him, despite all that. 

And so does this man, Christian, the tempter sent from the devil to lead her baby astray. Aaron was perfect before he went to Los Angeles, the best son a mother could ever hope for, and this man—

Even in her grief and pain, she can see how much he hurts, how sorry he is. He thinks Aaron is dead, because she told him so, and he gives her back Aaron's watch.

She forgave Aaron. But this man, whose fault the entire sordid mess is… Aaron is her baby boy, the sweet chubby-cheeked angel who she fell in love with years ago, her beloved favorite.

And this man loves him. It is his fault, Aaron's fall from grace, but Aaron loves him, too.

She runs to catch him, but he's driven away, back to Los Angeles.

No matter. Aaron will get out of the facility, even if she has to rescue him herself, and if Christian truly does love him, he'll still be waiting.


	17. Devour 2

**Title**: From Serpent's Tongue

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: none of 'em are mine.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie; blasphemy

**Pairings**: Paul/Kathy, Marisol/Kathy, Marisol/Jake

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 2925

**Point of view**: third

**Notes**: _Jakob_ means _supplanter_.

**More notes**: The phrase _dance with_ _the Devil in pale moonlight_ is from _Batman_.

**Notes cubed**: I also bastardize a quote from _Alice in Wonderland_.

* * *

_… kill me, Momma… kill me…_

o0o

Kathy learned she would never have children after waking up in the hospital when she was nineteen. She had no memory of the accident that put her there, but apparently it had been horrible. Five cars and one semi were involved, six people died, twelve were wounded, and Kathy lost the ability to bear and deliver a child.

Her parents assured her it wasn't the end of the world, her brother Ross said the accident hadn't been her fault, and her fiancé Paul swore he still wanted her for his wife.

"There are millions of kids out there who need homes, Kat," he whispered, cradling her in his arms. "And you are the best person I know." He kissed her temple, carded his fingers through her hair. "I swear, you'll always be the one I want. Nothing will ever change that."

o0o

Kathy first laid eyes on her son in a dream. She was wandering through a forest she _knew_ she knew, the sun high in the sky, lighting a path for her trembling feet to follow. The woods were silent as a grave, and she shuddered at the thought. Kathy walked the path to its end: a circle of stone. A woman waited for her there, an infant cradled in her arms

"Kathryn," the woman said. "Welcome. I've waited eternities for you."

"Me?" Kathy asked. "Why?"

"When you wake tomorrow, tell your husband you want to visit the forest outside of your town. You want to commune with nature beneath those ancient trees. Tell him that you'll die if you don't."

"What?" Kathy repeated. "Why?"

"Do as I say, child," the woman commanded. "If you want a son."

Kathy woke the next morning with an aching need to get to the woods outside of town, but she didn't know why.

o0o

Two days after stealing the gorgeous baby boy from the horrific monster, the woman appeared in Kathy's dream again.

"Thank you," Kathy said. "We couldn't have saved him without you."

The woman's smile was sharp and her laughter biting. "Name him Jakob, dear, and we'll call it even."

"Jakob?" Kathy echoed. "Why?"

The woman stepped out of the circle and lightly caressed Kathy's face. "Because he is the future, Kathryn. Jakob Lucien. I gave you a son so beautiful the world will fall at his feet. The least you can do is name him what I ask."

"Of course," Kathy said. Her grandfather had been called Jacob, and one of her uncles was named Luke. "Jakob Lucien."

The woman smiled again, gentler this time, and when she kissed Kathy, Kathy could taste blood.

o0o

Paul didn't want to name him Jakob, but Kathy insisted. And since Kathy was still in the hospital from falling down the mountain, she got her way.

Her parents took care of Jakob until Kathy went home from the hospital and Paul spent most of the time by her side.

The day she was finally released, she held Jakob for hours, studying his tiny, perfect face, whispering of the fun they'd have. He smiled up at her, laughed, cooed, and Kathy fell completely in love.

o0o

Jakob grew too fast. Kathy wanted him to stay a smiling little boy, curious about everything, full of laughter. But soon he became a surly teenager, always butting heads with Paul. Paul's drinking didn't help, but Kathy couldn't say a word to make them get along.

She sat in her chair in the kitchen, listening to them yell, wincing at the words they hurled through the air. Jakob was fifteen and insisted on being called Jake; Paul was drunk and it was only nine in the morning.

Kathy felt the tears building, felt them pooling in her eyes and spilling over. She loved them both so much and couldn't understand why they refused to behave.

Then she heard the sound of a slap, of flesh on flesh. Kathy gasped and closed her eyes; Paul said, "Oh, God, son, I'm sorry!"

Kathy couldn't make out Jake's reply over the rushing of her blood or the roaring in her head.

Before she fell completely into the black void that beckoned, Kathy heard Jake screaming, "Mom!"

o0o

She woke to Jake asleep in the chair by her bed and Paul staring out the window. Kathy just watched them for a while, breathing softly. Paul's shoulders were tight, full of tension, and she could feel the regret hanging around him. Jake looked uneasy; ever since he became a teenager, his dreams were hard, scary; Kathy longed to wrap her arms around him, to wipe away his fear and sorrow, but she hadn't the strength or ability.

Jake's eyes flickered open and he smiled at her. "Hi, Momma," he said softly and Paul turned.

"Kathy," he murmured, relief tangible. "Thank God you're awake."

She didn't want her first words to be a reprimand and tinged with disappointment but she had to say it before she forgot. "You can't drink anymore, Paul."

His shoulders sagged down and he quietly promised, "I won't."

o0o

Kathy never went back home. Paul and Jake couldn't take care of her all the time. She knew the fights would be frequent and awful without her, but they both agreed it would be best for her.

She hated being away from them, not seeing them every day. She'd loved Paul since she was thirteen, and Jake could brighten her day with a smile.

Paul dropped by when he could, usually every other day. He'd sit with her, talk about the old days, those eight years they had before Jake. He always kissed her gently goodbye, eyes filled with sorrow and grief, and a hint of anger. She didn't have the words to fix what had broken in their world; Kathy knew the words didn't exist.

Jake spent an hour with her every day she was up to it. He'd tell her about school, about the latest adventures of Connie, the boy who worshipped him(though, he'd never shared that tidbit of information with her, she'd gleaned the knowledge from the way Connie was around Jake, and she knew the feeling to be completely mutual). Jake assured her she'd be better one day, able to walk and care for herself again, but he'd always be there, always, come Hell or high water or a stampede of buffalo.

Kathy just smiled and listened and when he ran out of words, she'd talk about his younger years, the happy baby she fell in love with. How from the first moment she laid eyes on him, she knew he was hers and she was his and everything felt right again.

Paul never mentioned Jake and Jake never mentioned Paul. Sometimes, she asked how things were with them, but Paul ignored the question and Jake said, "Better."

Kathy knew she was the one fraying thread that kept them together and it hurt her because she loved them both so much it ached.

o0o

The years passed slowly and she was not quite happy. The nurses were kind and the grounds beautiful. She would sit outside and watch the sky turn colors, darken, and then study the stars until wheeled to her room. They helped her onto her bed, tucked her covers around her, and wished her goodnight.

She missed Paul's nearness, his warmth, his scent. She missed his arms around her, his lips on hers. She missed his gentle assurance of always being there, of always taking care of her. She missed the boy she first met, the man she married.

Kathy couldn't pinpoint when he first changed, but she believed it may have been the day they found Jake shrieking in that cabin. Walking through the trees, the last day she ever did stand alone on her own two feet—it was the perfect moment. The last time she saw the man Paul had been, that man she loved since she'd seen a fourteen-year-old boy playing basketball. After they found Jake, after her body broke and never fully healed, then suffered a slow slide into full paralysis, Paul never smiled so brightly again. He stayed with her, though, his love still shone bright and true, but he was never the same man.

And she missed him. She hadn't been held by him in almost twenty-one years and she _missed_ him. Kathy loved Jake more than she'd ever imagined and her mom told her that was the way of motherhood. But because she loved him so much, it hurt that sometimes, when she lay alone and unable to move by herself, she wondered if losing Paul was worth finding Jake.

o0o

Whenever Jake visited he brought her orchids, her favorite flower, and she'd tell him about her and Paul's first date, when he gave her a lovely bouquet of them. Jake kissed her when he arrived and when he left, on her cheek or forehead. His eyes were always gentle, with sorrow and grief, with pain and guilt.

He believed she was injured in a car wreck. He believed his father lost control of the car on a snowy night. He believed he was screaming in the backseat as the car spun out, hitting a tree. He went uninjured, Paul got a broken arm, and she was never the same again. Kathy hated lying to him, thought he saw the truth every time he looked in her eyes. But what really happened was so much worse… and somehow, he still knew it was because of him. He blamed himself for what he thought was a car accident when he was less than a year old.

So when she gazed at his face, taking in the guilt he carried on his shoulders for something that was nowhere near his fault, her guilt cemented deeper in her soul.

o0o

The third time Kathy saw the woman, Jake was hours away from turning twenty-one. The newest nurse, Marisol Banderas, had seemed familiar from the beginning, but Kathy couldn't place her. It'd been twenty years, after all, so Kathy forgave herself for not recognizing the Devil when she appeared again.

"Finally you know me," the Fiend said, giving a throaty chuckle. "I have waited eternities for you to look at me and see me for what I am."

In her dream, the wind screaming and trees groaning, moonlight alone illuminating Marisol in her soft blue gown, Kathy stood as she hadn't in over twenty years. As she had the first time they spoke, Kathy asked, "Why?"

Marisol's smile made a shiver shoot down her spine. "An experiment, Kathryn. An experiment far beyond your meager human comprehension. I formed him from my blood and yours, so he is your son, as well. You did not bear or deliver him, but he is still your seed. You loved him so suddenly and completely because your being knew him as yours. And he is beautiful, our son. Gorgeous in a way mankind has forgotten how to be."

Marisol stepped forward, over the stones, and held out a hand. "Dance with me, love. Dance with the Devil in pale moonlight."

Kathy moved back, hands by her sides. "Please," she said, trembling. "Tell me the real reason why."

Marisol threw back her head and howled with laughter, filling the forest, echoing loudly in Kathy's head. "'The time has come,' the Devil said," Marisol paraphrased, "'to speak of many things: of insanity, of blood, and the fall of the King.'"

Kathy closed her eyes. "Apocalypse?" she whispered and shuddered when she felt Marisol's fingers on her face.

"Yes," Marisol whispered, trailing her fingers across Kathy's cheek, then tangling them in Kathy's hair. "In your veins flows the Virgin's blood. Holy blood. And in mine flows power and knowledge from the dawn of time. I was the first, the greatest—I am what all since have striven to be."

Kathy looked into Marisol's dark, dangerous eyes. "Won't God stop you?"

Marisol smiled and leaned in, pressed her lips feather-soft against Kathy's. "Jehovah has long since looked away. He no longer cares for His creations, moved on to new playgrounds millennia ago." She kissed her way down Kathy's neck, then murmured into Kathy's skin, "This world is mine. Our son is the weapon forged to end mankind's reign. Because you have been good to him, I offer you—the Son's kin—a chance to stand with me when the fire rains."

Kathy licked her lips nervously, watching Marisol raise her head. "Paul?" she asked.

Marisol shook her head, smile razor-edged. "He has not been good to our boy, Rynnie. You know it. And I forgive you for letting it happen since I'm the one who made you unable to stop it."

Kathy jerked back and Marisol let her. "_You_ paralyzed me?" she hissed, fury giving her courage.

Marisol nodded. "You should have known there would be a price paid, darling. I gave you a son. Did you think I would take nothing in return?"

Kathy clenched her hands into fists, tried restraining her temper. But anger loosened her tongue and she snarled, "Fuck off, you demented bitch."

And Marisol smiled again, slow and dangerous. "There are no more chances, Kathryn. If I leave now, I will never again offer you my hand." She reached out once more, caressed Kathy's face. "Do not make a hasty decision, mother of my son."

Kathy pulled away and met Marisol's midnight eyes. "Leave me alone."

Marisol nodded. "As you wish, my lovely, so shall it be done."

Kathy had one moment of wondering if she'd made the right decision before being catapulted into consciousness. And all she recalled, after her eyes opened, was a fleeting sense of regret.

o0o

When Jake visited the day after he turned twenty-one, Kathy watched with glee as he and the newest nurse, Marisol, flirted.

But a part of her, a part she barely knew was there, whispered, _Get her away from my son. _

Kathy couldn't hear that part, however, and even if she could, she lacked the ability to do anything about it.

o0o

And then Connie died. And Dakota. And Kathy's only brother, Ross, in some freak car wreck.

And a week after Jake's birthday, Marisol woke Kathy and said, "Time to collect debts owed."

For a moment, Kathy was disoriented, had no idea where she was or what was going on.

Then she looked into Marisol's cold, dark eyes and couldn't hold in the whimper.

"You have given him a lifetime of humanity, Kathryn," Marisol told her, carrying her through the deserted halls. "And now it is my turn to give him his inheritance."

"Please," Kathy begged. "Just let Jake and Paul go."

Marisol chuckled. "You had a chance to escape, love. You were given an opportunity and you spit in my face. There are no second chances, no last minute bouts of mercy." Marisol carried her out of the building and put her in the back of a van, next to Paul's body. She could only stare at her husband in horror, but Marisol assured her, "He's just sleeping, Ryn. For now." Marisol leaned down and brushed strands of hair off Kathy's face. "You, my dear, are the key that will unlock all the potential leashed in our son." She gave Kathy a brief, gentle kiss, and closed the door.

o0o

Marisol tied Kathy and Paul to the wooden stake and lifted them into the air. Paul never regained consciousness, but Kathy was locked in her body, fully aware of what was going on. She felt the cold slice of knife and the blood drip down her, collecting in that cup. She felt the world growing colder, felt her heart slowing, and still Jake did not come. Maybe, she hoped for a little while, he'd escaped Marisol's grasp, fled.

But then, there he was, gorgeously alive and gloriously beautiful, too human to be _other_ and too _other_ to be human.

Kathy could only watch in horrified fascination as Marisol revealed herself, as Marisol tempted him. And Jake held back, Jake shoved away the desire, and then Marisol kissed _him_, that _bitch_ dare put her lips on Kathy's _son_—rage coursed through her and Jake jerked away, looked up at Kathy, and she heard, _Momma, why didn't you kill me?_ before Marisol glared at her and _pain_—

o0o

And Kathy slept. She dreamed of the days before Jake, of her childhood and her parents and her brother, of the life she lived before the wreck that stole her children and then the tumble that stole her strength. She dreamed of Paul, of the boy she met and the man she loved and the person who died that night she fell down a mountain.

Kathy dreamed of her son, the one thing she loved more than Paul, and of Marisol, the evil liar who damned Kathy's boy.

Kathy slept and Kathy wept and Kathy prayed for deliverance, for redemption, for absolution—but she heard only Marisol's howl of laughter and felt only heat licking her body, and she smelled flesh burning, tasted ash, and opened her eyes to absolute darkness that soon revealed itself as a tomb.

_Claw your way out, darling_, Marisol whispered in her head, _and you have your second chance to steal our son from my embrace._

_Mercy?_ Kathy wondered, and Marisol answered her thought.

_No, Kathryn. But Jakob has further to fall than I believed._

Exultation filled Kathy's body and she commanded her arms to _move_.

For the first time in twenty-one years, they listened. With determination and hope in her heart, Kathy began to force herself up through the dirt.


	18. Eagle Eye 2

**Title**: the hands of the weak

**Fandom**: _Eagle Eye_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from _Lord of the Rings_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He sees it all in a glance—Rachel, the kids, the President of the United States—all going to die, killed by some fucking machine playing God.

He has one chance to save them, one split-second to make a choice.

Jerry grips the stolen gun and points it to the ceiling, pulls the trigger. He has to save them, stop the kid—Sam, Rachel's boy—from playing whatever note will set off the explosion.

He pulls the trigger again and again and again, and it's almost a relief when bullets rip into him.

Nothing explodes. He falls off the desk, pain burning through him, and thinks, _We did it, Ethan_. He looks up at the flag and thinks again, _We did it_.


	19. The Penthouse 2

**Title**: I have no one left to tell

**Fandom**: _The Penthouse_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 325

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

He was hailed as a hero and her father gave him the promised million dollars, but Dinah never forgave him. She knew what he was—just a thoughtless killer.

Her father wanted her to thank him, to smile and be pretty, to be happy Joey had fallen. Her father didn't want to know how sad Joey had been, how confused. He just wanted to know that Joey hadn't touched her, had scared her, had threatened to throw her off the building. No one wanted to know that Dinah had _saved_ him, had convinced him to leave with her, to get help, to get _better_.

Dad begged her to talk to him, to tell her everything, but he didn't want to _listen_ to everything.

Joey didn't have a funeral and no one would let Dinah see his body. She never got to say goodbye. She never got to see him get better, become that nice kid she used to know.

Because the man everyone hailed as hero _killed_ him.

Dad begged her to talk to him, to the police, to the lawyers, to the psychiatrists, but Joey would never be able to talk again, so why should she? Joey never had a chance to speak before that bastard _killed_ him.

Joey had been so obsessed with going to wherever his mother was—what if he'd been right? What if she should've fallen with him? Maybe she'd be happy now. With him. With him and his mother, where no one was always pressuring her to discuss what happened.

Finally, the call of the terrace was too much. She waited till Dad had gone to sleep and walked out, closing her eyes as the wind pulled at her hair.

She hadn't spoken since he fell, but now she whispered, "Joey." She leaned over the railing, looking down; it was a long way, but Joey had taken it.

She whispered, "Joey," again and let herself fall. She didn't scream.


	20. Devour 3

**Title**: On A Dark Horse

**Fandom**: _Devour_  
**Disclaimer**: not my characters. just for fun.  
**Warnings**: spoilers for movie; incest; rape; implied pedophilia; child abuse; perhaps slight AU  
**Pairings**: Jake/Dakota, Dakota's dad/Dakota, implied Jake/Connie  
**Rating**: R  
**Wordcount**: 4170  
**Point of view**: third

* * *

When Dakota was very young, she imagined a valiant prince on a white stallion rescuing her. He'd gallop up to their ramshackle house at the edge of Cheever Lake and challenge her father to a duel. She and Momma would watch from the window, in awe and apprehension, as the prince and her father exchanged blows.

Over the years, Dakota's vision of the prince changed. He went from dark hair and dark eyes to blond and blue-eyed, imposing stature to barely taller than her. But, finally, at the beginning of eighth grade, her daydream settled on dark blond hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes she'd ever see.

o0o

Connie and Jake. She couldn't get between them no matter how she tried. She offered Jake anything he wanted but he never took her up on it. Connie did, though. From what she figured, his home life couldn't be much better than hers.

Jake, though… _there_ was a conundrum. Two parents, good home, steady flow of money—Jake could go places, if he wanted. He was awesome at basketball, could work wonders on a computer, and had even the teachers giving him third glances.

But he seemed content with his mom and Connie and Cheever Lake. And Dakota didn't understand. Couldn't. Had she the choice, she'd run and never look back.

o0o

Eighth grade ended. Dakota didn't hear from Jake or Connie for three months, till the beginning of freshmen year. Somehow, all three of them had identical schedules.

When Jake walked into their first hour, the second to last student, Dakota saw him meet Connie's eyes and grin.

o0o

They never really talked about the future, any of them. Connie said he expected his dad to kill him before he reached twenty. Dakota said she bet she'd kill herself before then.

Jake gave them both hard looks, huge hazel eyes full of something she couldn't name, and told them they were not allowed to die.

Connie glanced at Dakota and she shrugged. Jake had just turned fifteen; Connie hadn't been able to get him a present, but Dakota gave him a new basketball.

"Promise me," Jake whispered, kneeling beside Connie and staring into his eyes. "Promise me you won't die."

The three knew that was a promise no one could keep, but they swore all the same.

o0o

Dakota seduced Jake on his seventeenth birthday. He told her it was his first and she kissed his forehead, said she'd make him feel like he'd never felt before.

It was a power-trip, the control she had over men, and she hated her father for ruining her to anything else.

After, on the edge of sleep in his arms, she heard Jake whisper in her ear, "He'll get his, Dakota, I swear. He'll pay."

She snuggled closer, feeling safe for the first time in a long while.

o0o

Jake never talked about his family much, or his home life. Connie would bitch about his father at the slightest provocation, and Dakota never shied from the truth. Jake was a good listener. Dakota never felt like she was talking to a wall or being ignored. Around Jake, no matter what mood he was in or the day he'd had, she always knew she was safe with him.

The summer Dakota was nineteen, her father forced himself on her for the first time in almost four years. Dakota endured it, sobbing silently, and when he left, she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

She felt empty, nothing—just used. Something used and cast aside, something used because it was there, but not really wanted. Unneeded. Something that had no other purpose.

And she wanted Jake. She just wanted to look at him, to hear him, to feel his touch on her skin. So she pulled on her clothes—the T-shirt backwards and her jeans unbuttoned—and fled the house, rushing past her mother without stopping, unheeding of Dad's yell.

She took shortcuts, stealing through backyards and private property, not even aware of the tears pouring down her face. She reached Jake's front door breathlessly and banged on it for almost a minute before it opened to reveal Jake's dad.

"Dakota?" he asked, eyes widening.

"Is Jake home?" she gasped out and he nodded, stepping back.

She breezed past him and up the stairs, tears still building behind her eyes and spilling over. She paused at Jake's door, wondering what she was doing. She leaned forward just resting on the wood, and when it opened, she floundered, trying to keep her balance. He caught her as she fell and then sank beneath her weight, cradling her in his arms.

"I've got you," he whispered, shifting her around, settling her tight in his grip. "I've got you, ' kota. You're safe now."

It took close to half an hour, but finally she calmed, slipped easily into sleep.

When she woke, she was still cradled in his arms, but they were on his bed, nestled in his blankets.

"You're getting out of there, Dakota," Jake said firmly. "And you won't go back alone."

She shifted and curled up against him, warm and safe. She didn't say anything and he softly pressed a kiss to her hair. He moved slightly and she turned to face him.

Jake's eyes were kind, but she saw the rage building. She shivered and laid her head on his shoulder, unable to think beyond the moment, the safety in his scent.

"Trust me," he murmured, raising a hand to tangle his fingers in her hair. "I've got you now, Dakota. You're safe now." He kissed the side of her head. "He won't lay a hand on you ever again."

She sank back into sleep and dreamed of Jake on a large black stallion, cutting off her father's head with one slice of his sword.

o0o

She spent a week with Jake, rarely left his room. She showered at least twice a day. Jake sometimes joined her but never made a move. He helped wash her clean and assured her she wasn't tainted, wasn't broken. "You're out of his reach, ' kota," Jake murmured. "And he'll pay. I promise."

A few times, while she huddled in his bed, swaddled in his blankets, she heard Jake and his dad arguing. Sometimes Mr. Grey yelled, but Jake never raised his voice. She couldn't make out the words of either, just the tone.

Dakota knew it was about her. On her sixth day at Jake's house, she woke cradled in his arms to see his smile. "I found a place for you," he said. "I've spoken to the college; they'll let you and Connie move into dorms on Monday."

Her eyes widened and she couldn't look away from his face. "For real?" she asked, terrified it would fall through.

"For real," he affirmed, lowering his head to softly kiss her lips. "And I've got a job lined up for you, if you want it."

She started crying and pressed her forehead into his chest. "I think I love you," she whispered through the tears but didn't believe he heard her.

o0o

Freshman year was fine. Dakota lived at the dorm or she lived at Jake's, but she never went home. She never saw her father or mother, didn't want to.

Connie raised his eyebrows for a few days, but then moved past it. He had his own ghosts to escape.

A few bastard teachers tried to take advantage of her, and she let them. Dakota knew she wasn't a genius like Jake, but she wasn't a fool, either. It was easy to let them play with her body because she took herself far away, to Jake's bedroom and Jake's bed, to Jake's soft eyes and strong arms, to Jake's voice telling her everything would be okay. The clichéd words sounded like truth when he murmured them, and she was safe.

Jake watched her like a hawk, prepared to swoop in and rescue her the second she needed it. And that was a sensation she'd never felt before, something she'd never imagined feeling. Someone cared for her, wanted to protect her—she preened beneath his attention.

But the months passed and Dakota began taking advantage of his protectiveness. So Jake shifted back to Connie, spent his time with Connie. Dakota was annoyed at first, then a little hurt—but she'd never been able to count on anyone, so it wasn't new, Jake's abandonment.

Towards the end the first semester, Jake stopped by Dakota's dorm room. When she got back from her shower, he was reclining on her bed, reading their history text. She paused in the doorway a moment, hesitant, but he raised his eyes from the book to her face. "Hey, ' kota," he said and smiled, closing the book and placing it beside him. She stepped in and shut the door, reached up to pull the towel from her hair. It was getting long and unwieldy, hanging to the middle of her back. She'd been thinking of what to do with it—probably get it cut sometime soon.

"Jake," she replied, dropping the towel on the foot of the bed. "Whatcha ya doin' here?"

Jake smiled, sadly and slowly. Were it anyone else but him—even Connie—Dakota might have felt apprehensive, nervous—but he was Jake. Even when he was angry, he never lashed out at her; she never felt worried around him. "It's been a while since we talked, ' kota. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

She laughed and shook her head. "I'm fine, Jake. I promise."

He sat up, pulling his feet under him. Dakota pushed the towel aside and sank onto her bed, facing him. "You're happy?" Jake asked quietly.

Dakota smiled. "Yes," she lied.

o0o

The first semester of freshman year ended. Dakota had Bs and Cs, Connie had Cs and Ds, and Jake had As.

They celebrated the end of school with a party on the bank of Cheever Lake, where the town derived its name. Dakota brought the beer, Connie brought the weed, and Jake drove them out there.

Jake drank but never got drunk and rarely smoked anything. Dakota had never seen him high and she'd asked Connie—he'd never seen Jake high, either. So he was always their designated driver.

Connie sat shotgun and Dakota stretched out across the backseat. Connie fiddled with the radio and Dakota kept up a steady stream of nonsense, flitting from subject to subject. Dakota passed out the beers; Connie opened his right away and chugged half down. Jake set his in the cup-holder and Dakota just held hers.

"Jake," Connie asked, "how d'ya get such good grades all the time?"

With a shrug, Jake turned down the radio. "I go to class, mostly," he laughed. "On time, every time. You should think about that next semester."

"Are we there yet?" Dakota whined. "I'm gettin' claustrophobic back here."

Connie cackled and Jake answered, "Almost."

o0o

They spent the night at Cheever Lake. Connie fell asleep first, mid-sentence; Dakota draped herself across Jake's lap and whispered, "Why're you such a good guy, Jakob Grey?"

He stared out over the still water and she gazed at his face; highlighted by the moon, his eyes almost seem to glow. Finally, as she drifted off, he said, "I'm not so good as all that, ' kota. Not at all."

o0o

The second semester was practically identical to the first, the only difference being that the three of them were close again. Midway through, Dakota saw her father on campus and froze, panicked. She turned around and shot away, blindly ran through the grounds, finally stopping behind one of the buildings and leaning against it.

She pulled out her cell-phone and speed-dialed Jake, sank down to the dirt.

"Yeah?" Jake answered after a couple rings.

"I saw him, Jake," she gasped, sobbing. "I saw Daddy."

"Did he see you?" Jake demanded.

Dakota shook her head. "I don't think so," she whispered, sagging against the wall. "God, Jake, please—"

"Where are you?"

She told him and then he said, "Okay, ' kota, stay on the phone. Tell me about the movie you watched last night."

Dakota began, Jake encouraging her whenever she faltered. It was almost five minutes before Jake sank beside her and touched her shoulder. She let her cell fall to the ground and he pulled her into his arms. "I got you, ' kota," he whispered. "That bastard won't touch you, not _ever_ again."

"You promise?" she begged.

He kissed her temple. "I swear on the sun, ' kota."

She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed, her hands clenched around the cloth. "I hate him," she said through the tears. "I hate him so much."

Jake rubbed slow, gentle circles on her back, soothed her. It was half an hour before she calmed enough for him to pull away. He cupped her face in his hands and wiped her tears away. "Let me take you home, Dakota."

She nodded, still gasping slightly. He stood and bent over, putting one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. She turned, curling toward him again. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on his heartbeat, on his chest rising and falling.

Almost before she knew it, he was swinging her down, opening his jeep's door, and ushering her in. He buckled her seatbelt and gently kissed her forehead; she drew her knees up and locked her wrists in front of them. Jake kept talking but Dakota didn't register his words, just his voice and tone. He drove slowly and surely, and when they reached his house, he carried her in, up the stairs to his room, tucked her into his bed then lay beside her, gathered her into his arms, and held her till she slipped into dreams.

Dakota didn't wake when Jake slipped from the bed or when, hours later, he crawled back in, fresh from the shower.

o0o

The next day, Dakota ate breakfast at Jake's table. His father didn't say anything to her beyond a half-hearted greeting. Jake served her scrambled eggs and peanut butter toast, poured her a glass of chocolate milk. He quizzed her about their art history class and lightly teased her about her crush on Matt Damon.

She wrapped herself up in his caring, in his attention, and felt safe.

He drove her back to the college, escorted her to her room, and softly kissed her lips, caressed her face.

"I love you," she whispered, looking up into his huge hazel eyes.

Jake smiled sadly. "I love you, Dakota," he murmured, kissing her lips again.

o0o

It wasn't until later that day, mid-afternoon, that Dakota heard her father had been murdered. His throat was slit and his chest cut open, heart missing. His eyes had been gouged out, nose and ears cut off, half a dozen fingers gone.

And his dick had been slit down the middle, then carved off and shoved in his mouth.

She couldn't find it in herself to care.

o0o

Without the threat of her father hanging over her anymore, Dakota flourished. She felt as if her soul had lightened, as if the sun shone brighter, as if the world opened up before her. Jake showered her with attention and she preened, glowed with happiness.

But, like all good things, it came to an end. The day after their last final, Connie was in a terrible car wreck. He almost died—he actually was dead, for nearly a minute, Dakota heard, but luckily Jake didn't. That promise she and Connie had made on Jake's fifteenth birthday echoed in Dakota's head, as she paced up and down the hall. Jake sat on the floor, staring at empty space, hands clenched in his lap. He was completely still; only his chest, rising and falling, and his eyes, blinking, showed he wasn't a statue.

They were the only people there for Connie. His dad hung up on the nurse who called and his mom had split years ago. Jake's mother would have come if she could, but Jake's dad had work.

Hours passed and there was no word. Dakota sank down beside Jake and he raised his arm, pulled her close. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest; closing her eyes, she listened to his heartbeat. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm but did not speak.

And finally a nurse appeared before them. "Conrad Fuller's family?" she asked and Jake shot to his feet.

"Yes," he answered. "How is he?"

"He's going to be fine," the nurse smiled. "You can see him for a few minutes."

Before she'd even finished the first sentence, Jake sagged back against the wall, eyes closed in relief. "Thank you," he murmured, looking at the nurse. "Thank you."

He grabbed Dakota's hand and pulled her to him, gently kissed her lips. "I'll be right back," he said and followed the nurse down the hall.

So Dakota went back to pacing. She decided not to worry about how Jake was going to pay, how he'd convinced the staff they were family. Connie would be fine. He'd live. And that hollow, broken look would leave Jake's eyes.

o0o

For three months, until Connie could move without wincing, Jake coddled him. Connie hated being helpless, hated being unable to take care of himself, but he loved Jake showering him with affection. _Anyone_ would love Jake showering them with affection. He focused his whole being on the person, every part of him, and they knew they were loved.

Dakota spent her time with Connie and Jake, telling stories or reading books. For those three months, Connie lived with Jake. Mr. Grey complained, of course, but Jake ignored him.

Finally, though, Connie was fully healed. Jake moved him back to the college and made sure he could actually do for himself.

Sophomore year started soon after. Jake helped Connie far more than he ever had before because things had been shaken around in Connie's head. He wasn't the same.

Once after visiting Connie, Jake stopped by Dakota's dorm room and crawled into bed with her, pressed his face against her stomach. "I miss him," Jake whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "I miss him, ' kota."

Dakota didn't know what to do; this reversal of their roles frightened her. But she followed her instincts and carded her fingers through his soft hair, murmured nonsense in a soothing tone, and waited for him to sleep.

After he did, she shifted down to curl against him and watched over him as he was haunted by tormenting dreams.

o0o

They never spoke of that night. But Jake touched her more, welcomed her with brighter smiles than before. He often spent evenings in her room and invited her to go out when Connie wasn't with him.

"What am I to you?" she asked on the fourth such outing, tired of not knowing where she stood.

"A friend," he answered, confused, and she drooped.

"That's all?"

"What'd you think?" he inquired, shifting away from her in the booth.

She shrugged, almost hurt. "I just…" She shrugged again, unable to think of a way to say how she felt without ruining everything.

She loved him and she knew it. She'd loved him since eighth grade. She loved him with everything in her. She adored his mother and enjoyed spending time with Connie, but the only person she'd ever loved sat across from her in the booth and looked at her with wide, trapped eyes.

"Oh," Jake muttered, meeting her gaze. "' kota…" He smiled sadly. "I love you, ' kota. I do. But not like that. I'm sorry, so sorry."

For the third time in five minutes, Dakota shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she said, eating a fry. "Forget I brought it up."

o0o

Sophomore year—both semesters—passed in a blur. They did more things as a trio, and Dakota gave up on ever having Jake like she wanted. She loved him and sometimes they fucked, but he didn't feel for her what she felt for him.

And it hurt, but what she had was better than nothing, so she kept it. She grabbed a hold of what he gave her and resolved to never let go.

In December, between semesters, Connie showed her The Pathway. He said he hadn't brought Jake in yet, that it'd be his birthday present. Connie explained the rules and she scoffed.

"The game calls you? Isn't that a bit creepy?"

"But totally cool," he retorted.

o0o

It _was_ slightly cool at first. The Pathway would call with little things: tell Mr. Woodrow, the creepy guy who lived down the street from her old house, exactly how she'd felt about him all these years. Call her mom and cuss the bitch out for failing to protect her. Visit Dad's grave and spit on his tombstone.

Then it evolved to shoplifting, to vandalizing, to shouting at strangers on the street. But Dakota felt a thrill, felt alive—

And Connie signed Jake up as a twenty-first birthday present. Jake scared her that night, talking about how he wanted to kill people, talking about what he _really_ wanted to do. And she just lay across his lap, just listened, then slowly raised herself up to look into his eyes.

His gaze was empty. For the longest heartbeat, his hazel eyes were empty. But then Jake—the boy she knew, the man she loved—peered at her again and she relaxed.

o0o

When she learned that Connie was dead, she hurried to Jake. The promise she and Connie made echoed in her ears, their oath to not die.

The memory of Jake's face as he asked Connie to swear—Jake was sitting outside Connie's dorm, eyes empty, devoid of light and warmth. She sank down next to him, holding back her tears as he let his head fall onto her shoulder.

The teams—police and emergency personnel—finished up and Jake's uncle Ross paused by them; Jake didn't look up but Dakota met his gaze and nodded. Ross smiled at her and continued on his way.

They sat there for a long time, Dakota holding Jake, just waiting for her own turn to break down. And finally he pulled away, stood, and walked into Connie's room.

"Jake," she called softly, and followed. "Jake, what are—"

She froze as she entered, Jake stretched out on Connie's bed, covers over him, face buried in Connie's pillow. "Jake," she whispered and lay down beside him, curled up in his embrace. "Jake," she said again.

"Why'd he do it?" Jake asked, voice as hollow as his eyes. "' kota… we were gonna eat breakfast together. Why would he agree to that if he was just gonna… gonna..." Jake couldn't seem to force out the words and he fell apart, sobbing. Dakota began crying, too, and they held each other all day and night, on Connie's bed.

o0o

When she saw him again, he asked her to stay away from The Pathway. And she promised, she meant it—but The Pathway called her and told her to seduce him.

She knew it was a bad idea. They were both too fragile at the moment, too angry and hurt—but she went to Jake's house and felt distant from her emotions, locked away behind a glass wall. She could see how she should be acting, but she couldn't approach it.

Jake seemed locked away from his emotions, too. He was hollow again, a shell. Not angry or hurt—just empty.

So she fucked him because The Pathway told her to and wondered, as she walked down the stairs, if she'd ruined their friendship forever.

o0o

She only saw him one more time, after. He brought his girlfriend to the diner where she worked—the job he'd gotten her a couple of years before—and ordered food to go.

Professor Hartney also appeared that night. He told her again, sneaking to the back, to either give him what he wanted or he'd fail her.

And The Pathway called her again, stirred up the old memories of her father, the old feelings of hate and rage and pain and fear.

So Dakota gestured for Professor Hartney to step into the back with her, a knife hidden in her grip, and—lost in a haze, thinking he was her father—Dakota punished him for his sins.

o0o

Dakota gave Jake his food and did not say goodbye. She watched Jake and his girlfriend—Marisol—walk out the diner.

She wanted to run after him, to throw herself into his arms, to sink into his comforting voice and touch and scent—but that Jake died with Connie. The Jake she loved died with Connie, was buried with Connie, was beyond her reach.

Jake left the diner and Dakota went into the back, gripped the knife she'd used on Professor Hartney, and jammed the blade into her neck.

Her final thought was of a brave knight on a large black stallion, a knight with dark blond hair and huge hazel eyes, a knight who failed to save her.


	21. Latter Days 3

**Title**: teach me to laugh and cry again

**Fandom**: _Latter Days_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: Christian/Aaron

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 115

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

He is the most perfect, beautiful ghost, looking beat-up and tired, and so good it's better than you've ever imagined.

Lila knows him, of course she does—she knows everybody. And he's staring at you, looking so fragile you just want to wrap him up in your arms and protect him from everything forever.

_I went by your place, _he says, sounding bewildered.

_I sublet it, _you reply, not what you meant to say at all, but then he's in your arms and he's there and he's real and you're not dreaming.

You're not dreaming. He's real and he's not dead, and he's crying and you're crying, and you're never going to let him go.


	22. Eagle Eye 3

**Title**: a hush and a sigh

**Fandom**: _Eagle Eye_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.  Title from Allison Krauss.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 340

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

His eyes open to blackness and cold. He sits up, wondering why he doesn't hurt.

"Jerry? What are you doing?"

His breath catches. "Ethan? But—" Isn't Ethan dead?

"I'm sorry I got you into this mess, Jerry," Ethan says.

Part of his memory comes back and Jerry replies, "It's okay. Gave me a chance to be the hero, right? Never been one of those before."

He looks around in the murk. "Where are we, Ethan?"

He can barely see Ethan's shrug. "I dunno. Your head, maybe. You got shot, Jerry. Pretty badly."

Jerry rolls to his feet, reaching out for Ethan. "So you're not really here?" He hasn't even had a chance to process—Ethan's _gone_.

"I'm not sure." But he takes Jerry's hands, pulling him close.

"I'm sorry I didn't know," Jerry murmurs into Ethan's shoulder. "I should have felt it. You."

Ethan's hands fist in Jerry's shirt. "Our separation wasn't just on you, Jer," he whispers hoarsely. "I could've called. It was just easier—you were so hard, Jerry. I never knew what to do."

"I know. I was always jealous of you." Jerry pulls back, looking his twin in the eye. "I stopped her, Ethan. I saved their lives."

Ethan smiles. "I know. I'm so proud of you, Jerry." He squeezes Jerry's shoulder. "You need to go back."

Jerry shakes his head, confused. "But I got shot. I'm dead."

"No," Ethan tells him. "_I'm_ dead. You're barely alive. And if you fight, you'll make it." He gently shakes Jerry, saying, "Go back. That bitch shouldn't get us both."

Jerry looks at him for a moment. "I don't want to leave you alone. I wasn't there for you before, even after everything you did for me… I can't fail you again."

"Jerry…" Ethan embraces him again. "You never failed me, Jerry. We're different people and I always knew that." His arms tighten around Jerry. "The only way you'll fail me now is if you die, too."

He kisses Jerry's forehead and commands, "_Wake up_."


	23. Devour 4

**Title**: Room for Improvement

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie; AU

**Pairings**: Jake/Marisol

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 440

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

In his memory, she tastes like blood.

o0o

Five years in the hospital. Hundreds of pounds of drugs. Words hurled and retracted.

Jake Grey woke up from one nightmare into another, and couldn't say which was worse.

o0o

Mom and Dad visit weekly. They speak of what he misses in the outside world. They say they love him. They miss him. They want him home.

The doctors say he is steadily improving.

Jake never asks about Connie or Dakota. His parents never offer the information. What that means, he doesn't know. Doesn't really want to.

o0o

Two lifetimes of memories war inside him. One includes the Devil and murder and blood towards the end. The other has him in and out of hospitals since the age of five.

Jake takes the pills and talks to the shrinks and swiftly remembers how easy it is to lie.

o0o

_No, I don't want to hurt myself._

_No, I don't wonder about death. _

_No, I don't want to hurt anyone else. _

_No, I don't remember my hallucinations. _

_No… I don't think I've ever spoken to the Devil. _

_Yes, I think I'm better. _

_Yes… I think I'm ready to return to the world._

o0o

Twenty-six and free for the first time in five years.

They tell him he lost his mind. Thought the Devil told him to kill, but luckily he was caught in time.

Life is hard. No one denies it. Stronger men have broken with less cause.

He misses Connie. Dakota.

Marisol.

o0o

Jake refuses to answer the phone. His doctor tells Mom it'll pass and not to worry. Dad tells him they understand.

Jake doesn't tell them they don't have a clue.

o0o

Sometimes, Marisol speaks in his dreams. Whispers that he's forgiven. Gently kisses his forehead and softly touches his cheek.

_I have forever, darling_, she says. _And you are my son. So do you._

When she presses her lips to his, she tastes like blood.


	24. Devour with FaceOff

**Title**: Identities

**Fandom**: _Devor_ and _Face/Off_ crossover

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU and spoilers for _Devour_ and _Face/Off_; mentions of non-con

**Pairings**: mentions of Castor-as-Sean/Jamie and Jake/Dakota

**Rating**: R

**Wordcount**: 940

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She hadn't been born Dakota Marie Jameson. It was just the name assigned to her when she was relocated and given a new life.

Dakota Marie Jameson never had any siblings. She lived in Miami before her mother moved them to the wilds of Cheever Lake, Washington. Her father died when she was fifteen—the only thing Dakota Marie Jameson shares with Jamie Anna Archer besides her face and DNA. Before he died, he'd abused her, for years. Dakota's mother moved them to protect her.

But Jamie's father had only abused her that once. And he hadn't even been her father.

o0o

Jamie doesn't have all the facts. All she knows is that Dad somehow exchanged his face with a psychopath to save Los Angeles from a horrible fate.

Dakota has never set foot in Los Angeles and she never will. Dakota has only a mother and a ramshackle house, two friends and town full of fuckbuddies.

Dakota uses her body as a defense against actually caring for anyone. And every time someone fucks her, she sees her father's face.

Or rather—Jamie's dad. Worn by a monster.

o0o

Dakota's mother is a covert operative. She's come to care for Dakota, barely. She was good friends with Sean Archer, back in the old days. Before he switched faces and died.

She calls the woman 'Mom' though it kills her inside because she's not ready to die. But at night she almost always cries because she misses her real mother and her real father and her little brother so much she aches.

o0o

Her first year in Washington, she was a sophomore in high school. She had nightmares every night and flashbacks most days. Sometimes, she forgot to answer to _Dakota_.

She met Jake Grey and Conrad Fuller, two boys inseparable from each other. Conrad wanted into her pants, but Jake actually spoke to her.

Jamie would have made a move on him, but Dakota—though she gave in to everyone else—refrained. There was something almost pure about him.

Of course, by the end of junior year she'd seduced him, but damn, that was a long time to hold off.

o0o

Jamie would have been able to control Jake like she had all the boys back in Los Angeles, until Karl tried to take what he wanted. Jamie could have snapped her fingers and Jake would've hopped to, like all boys did.

But Jamie is dead and Dakota remains. Jamie died with her mother and her father, with her little brother years before.

o0o

Dakota fell in love with Jake somewhere around the end senior year. Jamie whispered in the back of her mind to be careful, to be on guard, because something was wrong with Jake and always had been.

But Dakota didn't listen.

Dakota didn't want to listen because Jake was gorgeous and Jake was kind and Jake looked at her like she meant something more than a quickie.

Jamie would have been able to control Jake with a snap of her fingers, but Dakota dreamed of Prince Charming and a ball and Jake taking away the memories of Dad's body raping hers.

o0o

But Jake wasn't Prince Charming. Jake was—

Jake is—

And Dakota can't even think the word.

_Devilspawn_.

o0o

Dad used to read her stories, when Jamie was little. They'd cuddle on her bed, the book of fairy tales held in front of them, and Dad would spend hours going from one legend to the next, transporting her to that world. She loved "Beauty and the Beast" in particular, requested it most of all.

But Jamie isn't a beauty and Dad's no longer alive, and the last memory she has of him is his hands on her skin, his tongue in her mouth, and his eyes laughing at her ineffectual struggling.

Jamie's last memory of Dad isn't of Dad at all, and that offers no comfort or relief—it just makes her cry longer at night.

o0o

Dakota doesn't listen to Jamie anymore. Jamie doesn't exist. Jamie is dead and gone, buried next to her father and mother and little brother. Jamie died the same day Castor Troy killed Mom and Dad.

Everyone says so.

And Dakota lives in a ramshackle house with her cold mother, on the outskirts of Cheever Lake, Washington.

Or, well… she did.

Before.

o0o

Dakota lives in an institution and Jamie is dead. Dakota doesn't tell anyone about the dreams and whimpers to the doctor about Daddy's hands. She plays up the abused little girl act and the doctor says that Professor Hartney's actions are the reason for her psychotic break.

Dakota is a marvelous liar, better than Jamie ever was.

o0o

Dakota is no beauty and Jake isn't a beast.

He's something far worse and Dakota still can't think the words, Dakota has no explanation, Dakota is all that's left of Jake's mimicry.

And Dakota knows that Jake doesn't want any loose ends.

o0o

Jamie screams at her to escape, to be gone before Jake visits the institution and gets rid of her. Jamie screams that he's not the man she knew, not her friend, not the person she fell in love with.

Jake can't save her. Jake can't save either one of them.

But Dakota shouts Jamie down and says if she's going to die, then Jake's got to be the one to kill her.

And Jamie just laughs.

o0o

Her life went from fucked up as Jamie to worse as Dakota, but at least she got to see Jake, to know him for a while, even if he's more awful than Castor Troy ever could have been.


	25. Devour 5

**Title**: nothing left for me to figure out

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: only Jake and his parents(both sets) aren't mine. just for fun. Title from "Not Ready To Make Nice" by the Dixie Chicks.

**Warnings**: spoilers for movie

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 870

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Katerina McClellan always knew there was something off about that boy. Watching the Channel 12 News, she's not surprised at all.

It'd been a long time since she thought about him, not since she left Washington, in fact. He was a gorgeous child, kind and sweet, always ready to help—but she knew. She looked in those large hazel eyes and she knew he had the devil in him, just waiting to leap out.

Like her mother before her, Katerina watched the portents, read in the stars the future. And that boy, with his innocent smile, was Lucifer's own spawn. Though it was her duty, Katerina could not kill him—there were protections woven in the air around him, strong magics the like of which she'd never seen.

She did try, though. The spell bounced back and almost destroyed her. After that, she only watched.

o0o

The boy walked into her classroom at the beginning of the school-year, looking young and innocent, like all fourth graders do. His blond hair was fairly long, his hazel eyes huge, and the expression on his face was designed to make women melt.

But Katerina knew what he was and she wasn't fooled. Her mama told her to be on the lookout for the child—and there he was. His adorable, little boy grin didn't hide from her what he was: devilspawn.

Her family had been watching for one like him since the Dark Ages, always ready to do the Lord's work. Each new generation was taught the old ways, in preparation.

And now he had walked into her classroom, eyes guileless and beautiful.

She hated him on sight.

o0o

Katerina has never been fond of children; there's a reason she's never had her own. Becoming a teacher—especially of young kids—was not what anyone ever expected of her.

But she was called to do the Lord's work, like her mother before her, and the Lord wanted her at that school in Cheever Lake, Washington. So she went and she played nice with the children, teaching them social studies and math, English and science. She wasn't beloved but nor was she hated.

And she waited for five years, until he showed up.

o0o

That night, she called Mama. "He's here," she said.

Mama sucked in a breath. "Watch him, honey," Mama finally told her. "Don't make a move until everyone agrees."

Katerina promised.

o0o

The year passed swiftly, young Jakob Gray—Heir of Hell—charming all he met; all, that is, but Katerina. She never fell under his spell. He did his best to make her his, but she'd been trained from birth to spot his tricks and countermand them.

She tried to destroy him just the one time; but the magics were thick around him and she called up Mama, explained her failure.

Mama absolved her, said it was too early yet: _Watch him, Kat, nothing else_.

And the year went. When summer finally came, that last day of school before she was rid of the children, Jakob—devilspawned evil—approached her quietly, softly.

"I don't know why you hate me," he told her, "but I'm sorry."

She stared at him, seeing the darkness peering out of his beautiful eyes. "I know what you are," she responded, itching to throw a spell or curse.

He looked at her quizzically. "I'm just a kid."

She scoffed and ignored him. Finally, he left.

o0o

It was two more years before Katerina moved away from Washington. Mama told her there was nothing else to be done. "We can't touch that boy," Mama rasped through the phone-line. "You can be of more use elsewhere."

So she went, moved down the Gulf Coast and dealt with evil things. She tried to forget Jakob Gray, forget the evil that was within her reach—the evil she failed to kill. The evil in a form so gorgeous and innocent that the world would have no idea until it was too late.

Her failure simmered in her gut, made her bitter and angry. Mama and Granny both told her it couldn't be helped, that she'd done her best, done all she could. But their words fell on deaf ears, and the Heir of Hell still walked the Earth, still charmed men and women alike.

o0o

And when she watches the Channel 12 news, seeing that Jakob Gray has been convicted as a serial killer of the nastiest sort, Katerina smiles. Now the world knows him for what he is.

When he escapes at dawn the next morning, leaving half a dozen guards dead in his wake, it makes headlines across the country.

Mama calls, and Katherine. Even Kaitlyn breaks her long silence with the clan. "We hunt at moonrise," Mama says. "Everyone will be there."

Katerina smiles. "His magics have fallen?"

"Yes," Mama replies. "According to your granny—and you know she always Sees true—he killed his guardian. Whether a-purpose are not, we don't know."

o0o

Katerina digs into the back of her closet and pulls out Great-Granny's old knife, the one that has been passed mother to firstborn daughter since Eve. Blessed and silver, with runes twirling about the blade, it is a Godkiller.

Finally, there is a chance to use it and destroy that boy at last.


	26. Winning London

Title: romance

Fandom: _Winning London_

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for movie

Pairings: past James/Chloe, James/OFC

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 220

Point of view: third

* * *

It was a nice fantasy, but it couldn't last forever and they both knew it. Chloe had a life in the States and James had a life in Parliament, and even Father's approval couldn't shorten six-thousand miles.

So Chloe went back to her life, with a single letter to him every month, until those tapered off. James had been called a romantic his whole life, so he kept writing almost a full year after she stopped. But James has never been stupid, and he finally moves on.

James meets a nice girl at university and takes a year off. He goes to the continent and then to Asia, spends a few months in Australia. And then he goes home, back to university and Margaret, who becomes his wife after graduation. And like Father always planned, he joins Parliament.

He still dreams about Chloe, though, every now and again. He drafts letters to her that he never pens. He remembers those heady days of young love, showing her around London, dancing with her. He sometimes thinks he sees her on the street or on the bus, those few times he doesn't drive himself.

Margaret is a lovely woman. She deserves better, so he turns his back on those memories of his youth and becomes the man Father fashioned him to be.


	27. Devour 6

**Title**: The Nature of Evil

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: Jake and Marisol aren't mine

**Warnings**: spoilers for film; incest

**Pairings**: Marisol/Jake, Jake/OFC

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 910

**Point** **of** **view**: third

_

* * *

"There is no such thing as evil, Father," she whispered and kissed his lips._

o0o

Jake tells himself he never had a choice. If it brings him any comfort at all, it's cold as an Artic breeze.

Marisol often wears her human form, the one he fell in love with. He cannot bring himself to call her anything else, no matter her appearance.

Wherever they are, it's pleasant—no fire or brimstone, no demons.

Marisol says it isn't time to bring him home, that he's not ready.

He asks what they're waiting for, but she smiles, a young woman with dark hair, and leads him back to bed.

He follows, docile as a lamb. There is no point in fighting anymore.

o0o

Jake does not keep track of time. Each day is the same as the last, boring and dull. He wanders the house and stares out the windows—he longs to leave, to stand in the sun, but he tried the first day and no doors will open.

Marisol says he needs patience. She smiles and kisses his lips.

He does not flinch or pull away.

o0o

Finally, Marisol tells him it's time. She sits him down on the bed and kneels before him, a bright smile on her face. Her appearance flickers from his mother to his lover and he nearly looks away, but she resumes control.

"Baby, I have wonderful news," she says and dread flutters in his stomach.

"What?" he asks, proud that his voice does not tremble.

"I'm pregnant."

o0o

_"We're all just victims who never really had a choice," she continued, and slid into his lap._

o0o

Hell is not a lake of fire or never having the chance to apologize, Jake decides. It's the knowledge you're the son of the Devil and got your mother pregnant, and that you—along with your child and dear old Mom—will bring about the end of the world.

Marisol will not listen when he says this is a bad idea, so he quits trying.

He can't do anything. But he can't sit idly by and let the world burn.

His mother—the Devil, Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, the Prince of Darkness—Marisol—**Mom**—

Jake tells himself he never had a choice. It brings him no comfort at all.

o0o

Marisol gives birth in her Devil form. Jake's child is a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

She has her father's eyes.

Jake hates Marisol more than he's ever loved her and swears he will kill her, no matter the cost.

His daughter is named Selena. If she is allowed to live, she will destroy the world.

o0o

Jake and Selena enter Hell on what Jake thinks is a Friday. Selena just turned three, a bouncy child who always laughs.

Hell is not so bad, all things considered. He asks Marisol if Connie or Dakota are there but she says no. "I played poker with the Big Guy," she explains, "and lost, so He got 'em." She then hurries after Selena to show her something, but Jake doesn't want to know.

His mother and his daughter—they both have to die. He didn't have a choice before, no way to fight. But she trusts him now. She trusts him.

Selena has his eyes.

o0o

_"You killed her, Daddy," she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "You killed her and laughed." _

_"Forgive me?" he murmured, unable to look away from her hazel gaze. _

_"Never," she replied, kissing him harshly, demanding— _

_And the knife, the same dagger that pierced the Devil's heart and ended her, enters her daughter's skin. _

o0o

It is not easy, but he is the Devil's son, so he's picked up a few tricks.

Selena grows more beautiful by the hour. She is a kind, sweet girl, and Marisol teaches her how to play with souls.

Jake tries to teach her humanity, but he barely remembers being human.

She has his eyes and he would have thought that'd make it harder.

o0o

By Selena's sixteenth birthday, Jake can come and go as he pleases.

By her seventeenth, he's tracked down the dagger and learned the spell.

On her eighteenth, she slides into bed with him and he doesn't remember how to say no.

By her nineteenth, he knows he can do it.

On her twentieth, he stabs Marisol in the heart.

Selena does not have a twenty-first birthday.

o0o

Jake opens his eyes. He wonders if he's finally awake, but he just can't tell anymore.


	28. Devour 7

**Title**: Through the Wire

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for movie

**Pairings**: Jake/Dakota; OMC/Dakota

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1270

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

You never understood why he hung with you—well, besides the whole _fucking_ thing.

You know you're beautiful, but so was he. The prettiest boy you'd ever laid eyes on.

You met Jake Grey in eighth grade and fell in love.

o0o

It was your fourth school in six years and Momma said it'd be the last. Daddy was dead, finally—drunk himself into a coma and his cigarette set him on fire.

You think Momma killed him but you never asked.

You showed up to school a week late in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. The teacher sat you in the back next to a hunched-over boy with red hair. Some girls sniggered when you hobbled by—your leg still hurt from Daddy's last lesson.

A different boy glanced up when you passed him—his hazel eyes looked deep into you. Your breath caught and your brain froze, but then he grinned. You had to grin back and the spell broke, letting you slip into the desk behind him.

"I'm Jake," he said, offering you a hand after class.

"Dakota," you answered and never looked back.

o0o

Too soon, Jake discovered your secret, your shame, your past.

"Your father **raped** you?" he gasped with horror, five months into your friendship, collapsing next to you in your backyard.

He never explained how he knew. You were too shaken to ask.

You couldn't meet his gaze; he'd leave you now, cast you aside like a broken toy, not worth the energy it'd take to fix it.

"Dakota," he murmured and you looked up. He raised a hand to your cheek and lightly traced your jaw. "It was not your fault. Understand?"

Until he said that, no matter what Momma told you, you'd believed you brought it on yourself somehow, that you deserved it. But something in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he touched you told you that you were innocent. That you hadn't wanted it, hadn't deserved it—

You could feel your soul lightening. So you kissed him.

At first, he pulled away. It was not rejection, you knew that—he wanted to make sure he hadn't somehow told you to. So you smiled at him and leaned forward, kissing him again.

o0o

Sometimes you wonder if you'd do anything different. You know that you wouldn't. In the end, just being near him was worth all the pain.

o0o

Connie and Jake, the misfits of school. Druggies and drunkards and fools—except for the part where Jake aced each test without trying and Connie could draw better than da Vinci. You didn't fit in with them, and you knew it; but Jake made you feel welcome and Connie would follow him to the ends of the earth.

Even years later, after everything, you didn't fully understand their relationship. You knew Connie's childhood had been similar to yours, but Jake—his mother was paralyzed, true, but his father seemed nice.

Something was always off, though. Something just… felt wrong, when he spoke of his family.

o0o

The year passed quickly. Soon eighth grade was gone and high school loomed, and an endless summer that you thought would end the friendship.

Then towards the end of June, Jake called you up and asked if they could crash at your place. "Just for a little while," he whispered into the phone. "Please, Dakota. Connie—he's—Dad's in one of his moods."

You could never deny Jake anything. You never really wanted to. "Of course," you answered. "Mom's gone for the week."

When they showed up, Jake was practically carrying Connie, whose face was mangled. He never did look the same.

"He needs the hospital!" you quietly shrieked. "Jake!"

"No!" he responded, shooting you a dark look. "No, Dakota. They'd take him away, send him to a worse place. Okay? We've done this before and we'll do it again, and that's the way it is." He waited a beat for your reaction, then said, "Please get some ice."

So you did.

That week, you seduced Jake. He didn't fight very hard, and actually tried to pleasure you, which felt... nice.

You fell even harder for him because of that.

o0o

After The Pathway, after Connie died, and Jake's family, and you finally woke up as yourself, they told you Jake caused it all. That he was sick, crazy, and you had to tell people he'd always been that way.

You ignored them all.

o0o

Jake could have gone anywhere in the world. You knew he wanted to leave.

But he loved his mother and he loved Connie, and you like to believe he loved you.

You'd grown up even more beautiful, and so had Jake. You knew what men wanted and you gave it to them; Jake remained one of the few who made it good for you, as well.

Life wasn't good, by any means, and you wouldn't say you were happy. But you'd never expected much, and neither had Connie. But Jake… he seemed to be waiting for something, and as his twenty-first birthday drew near, he grew distant.

And that night… as he spoke of his daydream, of killing the priest and his family and everyone…

For an instant, you almost understood. There had always been an edge to Jake, something that spoke of darkness and danger and death. Of rage and despair and fear—something that scared you, as you looked in his eyes after his admission.

But that moment passed and everything happened so swiftly.

o0o

You look back and you still love him. You can't help but love him. He was so beautiful.

o0o

You're old now, with one son and two daughters. Their father is a good man. Kind and loving, and sometimes you imagine his brown eyes are hazel.

You don't think about anything before your twenty-fifth birthday if you can help it. That's when you escaped to Florida and put everything behind you. You changed your name and your past; you erased Dakota and became Danielle.

Sometimes the phone rings when you're alone. You don't answer.

They said Jake died in custody. Just stopped breathing. You know he faked them all out.

Jake couldn't die. You've never understood how you know that.

Connie died, and Jake's parents. Others. All by Jake's hands, the police claimed. But there was more—The Pathway. And the woman who told you to kill your professor.

o0o

The phone rings and you don't answer.

You love him. But your husband is kind.

The phone keeps ringing.

o0o

You miss eighth grade and the smiling boy with hazel eyes.


	29. Stranded

Title: alone

Fandom: _Stranded_

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: AU for movie; character death

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 265

Point of view: third

* * *

Father died in the hold with Sarah; Jacob made it out in a lifeboat. Fritz held on tight to Ernst and Mother as the waves crashed around them, trying to keep all their heads above the water. But one particularly large swell pulled Ernst away, dashing him upon the rock the ship had beached on.

Fritz clung even tighter to Mother, struggling with all his strength to keep them both alive, both breathing. But as the sun rose, Fritz's exhausted body finally gave up and Mother slipped away into the sea.

He sobbed, letting the waves roll him and spin him, and no longer tried to fight.

o0o

Fritz woke on sand and for a long moment had no memory of the storm. But as he sat up, his battered body screaming at him, he saw the ship not too far out, broken on the rock, and he remembered—Father and Sarah, Ernst, Mother… all gone. And Jacob.

He rolled over onto his stomach, lifting himself up onto his knees so that he could vomit into the sand. Everything in his belly came out, leaving him gasping. The only thing he could think was, _Jacob might still be alive_. _Might even be somewhere close—the land is within swimming distance of the wreckage. The lifeboat could have made it. _

Once he could move, he stood. He needed to find water, food, somewhere to actually rest, and then he'd start searching for Jacob.

He had to find Jacob. For Mother, Ernst, Sarah, Father… if they were the only two Robinsons left then they had to be together.


	30. Devour 8

**Title**: love like burning

**Fandom**: _Devour_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for film

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 120

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Jake taking on his dear old Satanic mother.

* * *

When Jake gets to Hell, she is waiting. She welcomes him open arms, with a wide smile, with a throne and a scepter and a kingdom to rule as he sees fit.

When Jake gets to Hell, he thinks about Mom and Dakota and Connie. His family. The people _she_ killed, trying to raise some devil inside him.

When Jake gets to Hell, he sits on the throne and he wears the crown and he clenches the scepter tight in his hands, until his fingers bleed around it.

When Jake gets to Hell, he commands, "Break her into pieces."

When Jake gets to Hell, he is no longer the devil's son; he is Lucifer reborn, and Lucifer has no mother.


	31. Devour with Joshua

**Title**: son of Cain

**Fandom**: _Devour/Joshua_ crossover

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for _Joshua_; future!fic for _Devour_

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PGish

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 666

* * *

"I don't know what happened," Brad admits at his first meeting with his court-appointed shrink. "It all just… spiraled out of control, out of nowhere. Lily, Abby—" His voice breaks when he finishes with, "Mom."

Back at the beginning, when he'd been charged with child abuse and blamed for Abby's breakdown, he'd considered rolling over and pleading guilty. Just taking everything and waiting it out, to start over when his sentence finished. But then he thought of Ned, completely unaware and unprepared, and poor Lily, helpless in the presence of a monster.

There was only Joshua's testimony and that incident in the park to back up his claim. His genius explained the drawings and expert manipulations, and so Brad was released; however, he couldn't be alone with his children and he had to see a shrink.

"Josh was always such a quiet kid," Brad says now, glancing down at his hands. "Sharp and quick, you know? Smarter than me, I think." He clasps his fingers and twists, relishing the pain. "I don't know where I went wrong with him. What I messed up so horribly." He looks at the shrink—Dr. Grey, if he recalls correctly, young and earnest, dark blond hair and huge hazel eyes. "I never abused him, Doc," he says, infusing every ounce of betrayal and hurt he feels towards Joshua into the words. "Not until that day in the park. He just kept pushing, kept—"

He'd been framed by an expert, he knows now. Maybe if Josh had a little more real-world experience, he'd have gotten away with it.

Dr. Grey jots down a note and then nods. "I think that's enough for today, Mr. Cairn," he says. "Your son—some people are just born wrong. Can't be helped, can't be predicted." He raises his head to meet Brad's eyes. "Go on home, take a long bath. Rest under the water until you forget everything: your wife, your parents, your brother-in-law and your daughter. Until you forget Joshua."

Brad wants to demand an explanation, but his body is rising without his consent, walking to the door.

"Mr. Cairn," Dr. Grey calls before he steps out. "You are a good man. After, I'll let your family know."

Brad is screaming inside as his body catches a cab home, as he undresses, as he turns on the water and sinks down to rest on the bottom of the tub. Brad screams inside his mind as the water covers him, as he lowers his head beneath the surface, as he runs out of air.

He keeps screaming until he can't anymore.

o0o

When Joshua gets out of school on the Monday after his father commits suicide, Uncle Ned isn't there. He glances around and then starts walking in the direction of Uncle Ned's house.

He's happy, he thinks. That must be what he's feeling, here with just Uncle Ned and Lily. Uncle Ned worships him and Lily doesn't cry anymore. Mommy and Daddy are gone, and Grandma. No one pesters him or tries to manipulate him.

Part of Joshua(a small part, and growing smaller all the time) wonders if he should feel guilt or remorse or regret for what he did. Framing Daddy, pushing Mommy into a breakdown, helping Grandma on her way to Heaven—all the books he's read say he should. Should confess, get help. Daddy even told him he was sick, but not sick in his body. Sick in his head, in his soul.

"Hey, kiddo," a voice calls. "Joshua."

He turns. A man stands there, in jeans and a green shirt, dark blond hair and hazel eyes. "Who are you?" he asks. Uncle Ned and Daddy both gave him the talk about strangers.

"I'm Jake Grey," the man says, smiling. "We need to talk."

Joshua looks up at him, head cocked to the side, calculating all of the possibilities. "Okay," he replies, and walks side by side with Jake into the park. Jake ruffles his hair.

Joshua takes his hand.


	32. Surrender Dorothy

**Title**: second place

**Fandom**: _Surrender Dorothy_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: movieverse; I've yet to read the book

**Pairings**: Shawn/Adam

**Rating**: PGish

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 500

* * *

"I know," Shawn whispers while Adam is asleep, gently running his fingers through Adam's curly hair. "I know that I'll never be what she was. But I—I'm willing to give you all of me. I just wish it was enough."

He presses a gentle kiss to Adam's forehead and then slips out of bed. Walking down the hall to the kitchen, he glances at the pictures on the wall—Sara and Adam, Sara and her mother, Sara and Maddy and the baby, Sara and Peter, Sara and Sara and Sara.

Sara is a physical presence in their apartment. Her ghost is always there. Those few hours Shawn knew her, he did like her, but now? Now he's growing to hate her, and Adam would never forgive him for it. Sara is still everything, the sun and moon and sky, still Adam's muse. Still Adam's true love, soul mate, what the fuck ever.

Shawn can't compete. And he's growing tired, so fucking _tired_, of trying. It's been over a year, but Adam still talks about Sara like she's right around the corner, like if he waits long enough, hopes hard enough, she'll walk in the door. He actually calls Natalie every Wednesday at seven in the evening to trade Sara stories. Every word he writes is to Sara, about Sara, dedicated to Sara's memory.

Standing in the kitchen, sipping his coffee, Shawn stares at Sara's picture on the fridge. He's been waiting for the Adam he first met, the Adam who invited him on that trip, the Adam who apparently died with Sara to come back, but he knows now he's been waiting in vain.

He's so tired of sharing an apartment with two ghosts. Tired of putting his life on hold for a woman he barely knew. He's still young, with a future. He doesn't want to be tied down forever, chained to a dead woman and a man who can't let go. And Shawn does feel guilty for that, but even Natalie has returned to her life. Why can't Adam?

Shawn sighs, places his empty mug in the sink, and returns to the bedroom. They've only had sex a few times since Sara's death, when Adam wanted to be fucked hard to feel alive. And Shawn has no problem with that, but he misses when Adam used to want to _make love_. He actually called it that. The first partner Shawn ever had who did.

Adam is stretched across the bed, tangled in the sheets, Sara's diary dangling from his fingers. Shawn reaches down to lightly touch his face. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Sorry for what?" Adam asks, arching up in a stretch and yawning.

Shawn lets his hand drop. He heads for the dresser and grabs his favorite pair of jeans, pulls them on. "I gotta head out for awhile," he answers. "I'll be back later."

"Okay," Adam says, dropping back down onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Sara's diary.

Shawn goes apartment hunting.


	33. Devour with My Bloody Valentine

**Title**: not a daydream

**Fandom**: My Bloody Valentine/Devour

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for both movies

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 225

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: MBV/Devour, Tom/Jake, kindred spirits

* * *

At first, Jake thinks it's just another twist of his waking nightmares. Another facet of his madness. He's almost sure he made Marisol up, that he killed all those people—Mom, Connie—out of some twisted monster inside him.

And then he starts seeing Tom, and Harry, and bodies and blood.

Tom looks just like him. Tom's just as messed up as him. Gotta be another fabrication.

Then the mirror starts talking to him. Telling him to stop taking the pills. To start hiding knives.

Jake's been a good patient for over half a decade. Hasn't killed anyone since his parents, since Marisol.

He created Marisol, to kill all those people. That's what the doctors say.

But he's been a good boy. No one's watching him anymore. He's such a good boy.

But now Tom is in his mirror—no, _Harry_ is in the mirror, and Harry says to do horrible things.

Once, Jake could've gone anywhere, done anything. And now that he's quit taking the pills, all he sees are targets.

In the mirror, Tom whimpers for him to stop. But Harry, Harry demands he keep going.

When Jake hesitates, Harry pulls him into the mirror and shoves him out of the way, and Marisol laughs while Harry kicks down the door.

"I'm sorry," Tom says. Jake just waits to wake up.


End file.
